The most gorgeous man in the history of cinema has died. And one of the coolest.
I remember when Steve McQueen died, I was stricken by a kind of disbelief, because he was such an icon to me when I was growing up. This could not be happening, I was thinking, because icons don’t die.
I’m older now, but I still believe in the immortality of those I admire. Newman went on to grow old and frail, which McQueen never did, but it didn’t detract from his aura one little bit.
I’m no fanboy, but this one has me choking up. Newman got his big break in 1956, in Somebody Up There Likes Me. That’s when I started out, too. He’s been there all the time I have. And now he’s not there any more.